


hook, line, and sinker

by eidolonn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s15e06 Golden Time, M/M, dean teaches cas how to fish, i dont actually know how to fish but i tried, lots of lonely gay pining but what else is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25154632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eidolonn/pseuds/eidolonn
Summary: Through the hook and up and around, one, two, three, four, five times, and a sixth for good luck. Back through the first loop and pull. Easy.Or; Dean is the one who taught Cas how to fish, but now's not the time to think about that.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	hook, line, and sinker

**Author's Note:**

> had a deancas breakdown on [twitter](https://twitter.com/jackskllne) and wrote this instead of doing my homework <3 enjoy!

_ “Through the hook and up and around five times, and a sixth for good luck. Bring it back through the first loop and–” Dean pulls the line tight with practiced fingers. He’s done this enough times that it’s clear he’s operating purely on muscle memory. ”See, it’s easy, Cas.” His voice has a leisurely cadence to it and Castiel looks at him intently for a moment, silently wondering how long it’s been since Dean’s had a break like this. Whatever the answer, he knows it’s been too long. _

_ The sun is setting behind them. Dean stares back at him for a beat before tearing his eyes away and clearing his throat, breaking the silence. He grabs another set of equipment from the pile beside him and offers it to Cas. “Here, you should do your own. Best way to learn.” Castiel takes the equipment, picking out a hook and the spool of fishing line.  _

_ “Thank you, Dean.”  _

_ “‘Course.” Dean claps Castiel on the back and turns his attention to making sure his own gear is set up, although the tension in his shoulders and the exaggerated furrow of his brow makes Castiel think that the task requires less focus than it’s being given. It’s curious, but Castiel brushes it off. He sets to work–through the hook and up and around, one, two, three, four, five, and a sixth for good luck. Back through the first loop and pull. He lifts up the hook to inspect his handiwork, then turns back to Dean. _

_ “How’s this?” _

_ “Hey!” Dean exclaims. “Not bad! Here, I’ll help you finish setting up.” He checks the line, making sure it’s secured to the fishing rod, then pulls a plastic tub out of the cooler at his feet. “Now this,” He says, cracking open the lid with his face twisted comically in a grimace, “this is my least favorite part.” He pulls out a single worm, and it wriggles a bit between his fingers. He circles the fingers of his free hand around Cas’s wrist and pulls his hand forward, uncurling his fingers from where they formed a loose fist. Dean places the worm in his open palm. Castiel ignores the way the warmth of Dean’s fingers spreads through his hand and up his arm, ignores the way he can still feel the echoes of Dean’s touch. He thinks only about the worm and says nothing.  _

_ “Gross, right?” Dean seems to have interpreted his silence as disgust, and for both their sakes he won’t fight Dean too hard on that. _

_ “I wouldn’t say that.” He squints at Dean, who’s now gotten a worm for himself and is in the midst of spearing it onto his hook. “I suppose I feel a little sorry for it.” Dean looks up at him and his expression has inexplicably softened. A fond smile tugs at his mouth but it’s replaced by a cheesy grin so fast that Cas almost thinks he imagined it. Almost.  _

_ “Circle of life, pal. It becomes the fish’s dinner, that fish becomes our dinner. Nothing wrong with that.” Dean sets down his own worm, now firmly secured, and gestures for Cas to hand him his. He fixes Cas’s bait onto the hook in quick order and hands it back to him. “All done.” Castiel tilts his head, regarding Dean with a deliberately blank look. _

_ “I don’t eat Dean.” _

_ Dean huffs a breathy laugh at the deadpan of his voice. “Well, more for me then.” He stands from the flimsy folding chair he was sitting on, fishing rod in hand. “Come on, I’ll show you how.” Cas rises, holding his own fishing rod awkwardly. He stands next to Dean and stares into the water for a moment before looking back at him. Dean smiles and the setting sun lights up his eyes, and Castiel thinks distractedly that in all his billions of years he’d never seen that shade of green before. He might have a new favorite color.  _

_ “Okay, so,” Dean starts, righting himself and placing his hands just so, “right hand just above the reel. Pull back some of the line, you don’t need that much line at the end, and then– wait,” Dean chuckles as Cas painstakingly slowly attempts to reel in the line just far enough. “Hold on, let me.” Dean sets his rod down, leaning it against his chair, and suddenly he’s in Castiel’s space, adjusting the position of his hands, reeling in the last few inches of unnecessary line. They’re close enough that he can feel Dean’s breath on the back of his neck, and Cas can’t get goosebumps but he knows that if he could he would now, if the buzz he feels under his skin is anything to go by. Dean places a gentle touch on Cas’s elbow and looks ahead, on target, so he couldn’t meet Cas’s eyes if he wanted to. They both breathe and the whole world seems silent for a moment, and then Dean taps his right hand. _

_ “Pinch the line to the rod with your index finger. Good.” His voice is low, as if he’s noticed the quiet as well, and doesn’t want to disturb it. The hand on Cas’s elbow remains. “Just pull your arm back until the rod’s vertical–you got it. Now, snap it forward.”  _

Castiel snaps his arm forwards and all in one moment the line flies, hook glinting in the low light, hitting the water with a splash, and Dean is gone and it feels like an exhalation. He stands in front of the lake alone, and he doesn’t know why he does this day after day. He laughs ruefully to himself but it’s lost in the silent solitude of the woods that surround him. He thinks of the worm at the end of his hook, submerged in cold waters all alone, waiting to be consumed, and Castiel decides to stop thinking about the worm, about waiting alone for the worst, and he ignores the tight knot in his stomach. He certainly does not think bitterly that he has survived millennia without much in the way of company, but knowing now what it’s like to not be alone has cursed him to feel the isolation all the more keenly. He does not think about Dean, the coldness in his eyes, the harsh set of his brow, the bite of his words. He will not think about Dean. He won’t.

He can’t.

_ The sun is nearly gone, dipped low behind the trees and mountains behind them so they couldn’t see it if they looked, but Dean and Castiel are not looking for the sun. They sit on their cheap folding chairs, fishing rods in hand, lines down in the water. No movement. Castiel stares at the profile of Dean’s face, and they’re near enough that he could probably count the freckles on Dean’s cheeks, even in the twilight. The sounds of wildlife linger in the air around them, a low constant hum. Dean turns to Castiel. _

_ “What’s up?” _

_ Castiel shakes his head slightly. “Nothing, just–nothing’s biting.” _

_ Dean smiles, and Castiel drinks in the way it crinkles his eyes, the way his cheeks and nose have gone rosy in the chill of the evening. The sky overhead is a gauzy purple and the breeze is gentle and somewhere behind them, a bird starts to sing. A nightingale, of maybe a thrush. “That’s part of the game, Cas. The waiting makes it worth it. It makes it peaceful.” _

Castiel takes a shuddering breath, steadies his hand on his fishing rod, and tries to find peace.

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/jackskllne)   
>  [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/jackskllne)


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